Capable of Love
by otterhoundgirl
Summary: You could call their relationship a different one. Rated T (for now)
1. Chapter 1

Hello! I've become very obsessed with Sherlock over the past few months. I've found that I don't ship Johnlock- I like Shirene (or Adlock) better. Their relationship is very interesting and there's lots of material that is great to work with.

Explaining the writing:

I wanted to portray Sherlock differently in this. I want to expose the vulnerable side of him, which I do believe exists. It's the first time he's ever loved someone- of course he'll be confused and more vulnerable than he usually is. So apologies if this is OOC.

So, I hope you all enjoy this. It will become a multi-chapter fic, but that may take time, considering that this will just be a side project for now while I deal with some stuff. Hopefully I can write a lot in the future!

You could call their relationship a different one.

In fact, you could call it many things. A train wreck. A sin. Dysfuctional. Self-destructive. People constantly tried to warn Sherlock. "She's playing you. She's only in this for herself. She'll break your heart one day," they would warn him. But Sherlock simply shut their criticisms out. Call him a fool, but he had sense. He knew it wasn't a game. He wasn't sure what to call it, but they had something. Checking her pulse as they lie under the warm covers of Sherlock's bed confirmed it. Her heart raced when they were together, as did his. Sherlock did not like to let his guard down, expose himself to people. He wasn't one to fall in love. Yet he found himself completely and utterly captivated by Irene Adler.

Sherlock woke early. Moving his hand around the mattress in search of Irene's warm figure, he found the space next to him empty.

Not wasting one moment, Sherlock rose out of bed and dressed in his favourite purple shirt and black trousers. He spent more time on his hair than he usually did- John said he was trying to impress Irene- but he didn't think so. What was wrong with wanting to look presentable?

After he had straightened himself out, Sherlock made his way into the kitchen. Irene was standing at the counter, dressed in one of his dress shirts. It hit just above her knees. Sherlock liked it when she wore his clothes.

John was lounging in the plush armchair, reading the morning paper.

"Double murder in the Hainault Forest. Police are baffled," John announced, "Do you think Lestrade will call?" Sherlock shrugged as he accepted the warm mug Irene handed him.

"If he does, you can go. I'm experimenting with clotting blood of horseshoe crabs in medical usages today," he replied, "and speaking of which, did you ask Molly about getting the feet for the experiment, Irene?" Sherlock inquired as he went to sit down in front of his laptop. There were a few emails that needed attention.

"Yes, she said it would be against the law. You know better than that, Sherlock. I never thought of you to be one to misbehave," she said with a twinkle in her eye as she pulled up a chair next to Sherlock. John grimaced. He didn't like to watch the couple-y stuff. He'd enough of walking in on Irene and Sherlock in say, slightly compromising positions.

"I'm going to rinse off, if anybody cares!" John called out on his way to the WC. Of course, nobody did. They were all too busy replying to emails.

Sherlock pulled up his inbox and scrolled through the many messages. Most were pointless idiots asking for help on cases that would be a simple waste of his time. Once he had finally managed to narrow the emails down into two cases that could be of interest to him, it was mid-morning and Irene was getting dressed. John had left awhile ago.

"Sherlock, are you going to take the case with the murdered twins in the Maldives?" Irene asked from the bedroom.

"Why should I? It would be a waste of my time. It was the ex-boyfriend, obviously," he replied lazily as he plucked at the strings of the violin.

"I've always wanted to vacation in the Maldives, you know," Irene said as she exited the bedroom. She had dressed for the cold weather in a way a normal person would- a pair of slim tan pants, a blouse, and a heavy coat. Sherlock wasn't one to compliment people, but she looked nice in the ensemble.

"If you want to go to the Maldives, I'll take you there. It's pointless to go there for the case though."

"Did Sherlock Holmes just propose a vacation?" Irene exclaimed, shocked. He nodded.

"If you really want to, we'll go. Now go do you whatever you were planning to do and let me experiment," he said, lifting her off his lap and going to grab his tools for the experiment. Irene nodded.

"I'll probably be back later tonight, no need to wait up," she informed him as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed the keys from the counter.

"Yes, of course. See you later," Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes off his microscope. Irene gave him a quick peck on the cheek and left.

John exited the bathroom a moment later, his hair still dripping from his shower.

"You're really taking her to the Maldives?" he asked quizically as he buttoned up his slacks.

"Why shouldn't I? Plus, they say coral from the Madoogali reef has amazing properties. And it's not polite to eavesdrop, John," Sherlock replied.

This new piece of information shocked John. He had never seen Sherlock like this. He no longer kept thumbs in the fridge, there was almost always food in the house, and most of the rubbish had been thrown away. While this new living was a big improvement, John still worried about Sherlock. He didn't trust Irene- in fact, the only person who did was Mrs. Hudson. Sure, she had obviously made Sherlock happier- but she was bound to break his heart at some point. The Dominatrix was not capable of loving anybody. Sure, she could seduce and fool, but John didn't think she was capable of love. And he dreaded the day that Sherlock would finally realize that.

**Please consider leaving me a review- your opinions and criticisms help me make this story even better. **


	2. Chapter 2

I've found myself having that new-story writing urge. I've written another chapter, hopefully it will be up by tomorrow night c:

Irene hurried along the street. All around her there were tourists, stopped to admire the Big Ben and the London Eye. They had no idea of the danger that was looming in front of them.

Double checking her phone to make sure she had the address right, she stopped in front of the meeting spot he had chosen. A tiny coffee shop was in front of her. Once she had confirmed the address was correct, she pulled the plated glass door open. The aroma of coffee met her senses. She would have loved a cup, but she wasn't here for coffee. This was business.

She scanned the shop for him. He was sitting at a table in the back that was almost entirely obscured by a large bookcase. Taking a deep breath, she unbuttoned the top two notches of her blouse and hurried forward.

Sherlock's experiment was going along wonderfully. The blood was clotting the way it was supposed too. This information would be helpful to Molly and everyone else that worked in the mortuary. His work was done, so he began to tidy the table. He was planning on making Irene dinner later- well, honestly, he'd be calling a gourmet takeaway place and placing an order because he had no cooking skills whatsoever- and it'd be best to eat at a table that was not contaminated with crab blood.

Once Sherlock had cleaned the table and sealed the results in a plastic blog, he grabbed his violin and began to play. Usually he only did it to help him think, but lately, he'd found it a great way to get his feelings out. Today's melody was light and happy. Sherlock usually didn't feel that way- the greatest never won because they were happy and carefree all the time. Sherlock's line of work required seriousness. You couldn't be happy while solving a case, or at least you couldn't show it. But solving cases did make Sherlock happy. They gave him a rush that he had only ever felt once before. People thought he was weird because of it, but he was just someone who liked his work, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with that.

John stuck his head into the living room. "Sherlock? Lestrade just rang, wants us down at the station."

"How serious on a scale of one to ten?" Sherlock inquired. John bit his lip as he tried to remember the factors on Sherlock's Scale of Seriousness.

"I'd say a... five?" John estimated.

"We agreed I won't leave the house for anything more than a six, right?" Sherlock replied. John nodded. There was quite a media frenzy around Sherlock at the moment.

Once John had left, Sherlock abandoned the violin and grabbed the worn copy of the The Great Gatsby off the bookshelf. He was beginning to regret not going along with John. He got bored, holed up in the flat. Sure, he liked watching Doctor Who reruns every night with John and playing Cluedo with Irene, but he'd enough of that. He wanted to be back, solving crimes and putting his mind to work.

Irene sat down in front of him.

"Thank you for meeting me here today, Mrs. Adler," he greeted her in his high, clear voice.

"My pleasure," she replied, accepting the cup of tea that was handed to her, "And what was your intention of inviting me here, Mycroft?"

**Please consider leaving me a review below!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is chapter 3! I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed- your opinions have really helped me decide the fate of this story!**

"Ah, Ms. Adler, my ulterior motives do not to be revealed to you just yet. The only thing that matters to you is that you need to sever all contact with my brother. And I would be willing to pay you large sums of money to do so," Mycroft said lightly, taking a sip of his tea.

"How do you even know I am in contact with your brother any more?" Irene asked, trying to prevent her tone from giving away anything.

"I have my agents, as you know," Mycroft reminded her.

The gears in Irene's brain whirred as she tried to recall the suspicious happenings around her in the past six months. She couldn't seem to think of anything.

"I don't need your money, you know that Mycroft," she replied, pensieve.

"Really? Because the money is just a formality. Stop talking to him, break his heart, I don't know. If you can't do that, I'm sure you know what will in fact happen, Ms. Adler. I will be lenient with this. Take two weeks, do whatever you want, but you must not talk to him again after that. I wouldn't recommend not doing as I say, Ms. Adler. Good day."

John came home around six. He looked utterly exhausted.

"Well, you look exhausted. Was it a case worth my time?" Sherlock asked. Rubbing his temples, John shook his head.

"No. It was complete and utter rubbish. Even I could deduce that the daughter stole the money. Waste of my time. What's for dinner?"

Sherlock laughed. "You're expecting me to cook? I've never made a full meal in my life, John. Call La Bella Luna and see if they have a table. I don't know! It's not my responsibility to feed you, John."

Grumbling, John made his way into the kitchen in search of a phone book.

"Can you make a reservation for three?" Sherlock asked, "I'm not sure if Irene has eaten yet, and I don't want to leave her alone here."

"Eh... sure. Shall I invite Mary along, make it a double date? I wouldn't want to feel like a third wheel," John said, only half-sarcastically.

"No, she rather bores me," Sherlock answered.

"You really need to filter yourself, Sherlock, you say the worst things sometimes," John told him.

"I'm only speaking my mind. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go shower," Sherlock said as he left the room.

John groaned. He hated letting Sherlock have the last word, but that was the thing that usually happened. John was trying to not get peeved at Sherlock as much- it was, after all, hard to work on cases with someone when you wanted to rip their head off every single moment.

Once Sherlock had showered and John had cleaned up, they were both sitting in their respective chairs, waiting for Irene to get home. She came in the door around seven, looking exactly as she had before she left.

"Gentlemen. What's going on?" she asked, kicking off her shoes and going over to give Sherlock a kiss. John grimaced, averting his eyes from the face-sucking that was happening before him.

"We were just going to get some dinner. Do you want to come?" Sherlock asked once Irene had pulled away.

"Sure, just let me go change, alright?" Irene replied, disappearing into the bedroom.

"Alright, I'm just going to tell you this now, if there is anything- ANYTHING AT ALL- during dinner I'm leaving and having you foot the bill. So keep your hands to yourself," John warned Sherlock, his face dead serious.

"We're classier than that, don't worry," Sherlock assured him.

Irene was ready a few moments later. They locked up the flat and caught a cab to the restaurant. It was on a quiet street corner near Chinatown- a weird place for an Italian restaurant. But the food was delicious, and the man owed Sherlock a favor.

They were seated at a quiet table in the back. Wine and candles were immediately brought out, and John began to regret coming along without Molly.

Their waiter, a plump man named Stefano, came over and took their orders. Small talk filled the air as they waited for their food to come out.

"So, about the Maldives, Sherlock, I thought we could go in a few days? Hasty, I know, but my schedule gets very hectic after two weeks," Irene proposed.

"No need for us to go. We'll be leaving for France tomorrow. There's a wealthy Italian banker who has requested our help on a case," Sherlock informed them.

"Won't plane tickets be a little expensive at last minute?" John asked.

"He's willing to pay for all of our expenses. Apparently this is very important," Sherlock explained.

"Alright, I'll pack after this," John said.

"Are you going to be coming, Irene? I know it's not the Maldives, but they have... beaches and stuff, I'm sure you could find something to occupy your time," Sherlock said sheepishly.

"Sure, why not," Irene decided, "Shall I go back to my flat to fetch a suitcase and pack my things?"

A plan was decided, the bill was paid, the table cleared. John and Sherlock caught a cab back to Baker Street. Irene waited for a cab to take her back to her flat. She started to absentmindedly scroll through her phone, stopping at a message from a blocked number.

_You should have cut it off. You're just making this harder for yourself._

**Next chapter will be up soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! I'd just like to let you know a bit about the dates on which I will be uploading- this will probably be my last chapter until at least June 16th, as I'll be at swim camp from June 9th to June 14th. Then I'll need a bit of time to get settled in and start writing again.**

**Okay, I'm going to let you read now c:**

Fear filled the pit of Irene's stomach, and she felt as if she might throw up. He was serious about this. Her leaving Sherlock would probably be the best... but she didn't want to.

Trying to shake the unpleasant things out, she attempted to think of happy things. "Don't worry, you still have two weeks. You can go to Nice with Sherlock and have dinner. Don't think too far ahead, Irene," she told herself in a poor attempt to stop her pulse from racing.

"Where to, ma'am?" the cabbie asked.

"Uh, 130 Queen's Gate, South Kensington," she told him, settling back into the leather upholstery of the seats. The car lurched forward, and Irene felt as if she would throw up right there. Covering a hand over her mouth, she told herself to take deep breaths. But the thought of losing the only person who she had ever truly loved scared her.

* * *

Sherlock was hurrying around the flat, tossing various dress shirts and pants into a large black case that sat on his bed. He was having quite a hard time finding things in his closet, given that Irene had hung several dresses, skirts, and items of lingerie on the racks. A thick manila envelope waited at the foot of the bed. Presumably, it contained plane tickets, although Sherlock hadn't gotten around to opening it.

"Er, mate, I was just wondering what time I'll need to be getting up tomorrow?" John asked as he stuffed various tools into his case.

"04:30 should do. We're on British Airways flight 342 from Heathrow at 07:45. The plane tickets are in that envelope at the end of my bed," Sherlock directed him.

"Those aren't the tickets... they're being emailed to you," John said, a confused expression appearing on his face.

"Oh. Well then, send the envelope to Molly for screening. I'll open it when we get back, can't be too important," Sherlock decided. John nodded his head in agreement and went to grab the envelope.

"I don't think this has a bomb in it Sherlock, it seems to just be paper!" John called out.

"Send it in anyways," Sherlock replied as he zipped and locked his case.

For the next hour, the two went about their business. When John excused himself to go to bed, Sherlock waited up in the study for Irene. He did it because... he liked to know that she was home safe. She stumbled in the door at midnight, toting a medium-sized pink case.

"Sorry it took me so long," she apologized, "I ran into an old friend in the lift and we had a drink."

"Fine then. Put your case by mine and John's. We'll need to get up at 4:30, so I'd recommend going to bed right now so you don't look like a raccoon tomorrow morning," Sherlock said as he fastened the tie on his pajamas and removed his watch.

"I've rested plenty, how about we stay up a bit?" Irene suggested as she began to untie the band of Sherlock's robe.

"No, not tonight, I'm too tired. If we're going to have sex, I'd rather it be when I'm awake enough. Come along, I'm going to bed," Sherlock said, grabbing Irene's hand and pulling her towards the bedroom. Irene masked the disappointment on her face as she brushed her teeth and tied her hair back.

"Goodnight. 4:30, don't forget," Sherlock mumbled as he laid down on the bed. Sleep began to overtake him, but Irene couldn't sleep. She had a feeling she wouldn't be getting tons of sleep over the next two weeks.

****

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